


Push, Pull

by brightlikeloulou



Series: Jonmund Drabbles/Requests [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Back Rub/Massage, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlikeloulou/pseuds/brightlikeloulou
Summary: When Jon enters his and Tormund's tent, the red headed Wildling realizes that Jon's in pain, and he doesn't like it.





	Push, Pull

**Author's Note:**

> Requested on my Tumblr:  
> Jonmund and back rubs? Like, jon is really tense after he gets back to the wall and leaves with tormund, and when they go to bed tormund puts his hands on jon's back and hits a spot and jon is so embarrassed at the noise he's making and tormund offers him a back rub ? Bonus points if they're not together yet and gay panic ensues when jon enjoys it a bit too much

The stiffness started in his shoulders, and then spread all the way down to the dimples just above the cleft of his ass. It tightened somewhere around the middle of his spine, and sharp pain radiated from his lower back if he moved wrong.  
  
He suspected the the long weeks of riding to Castle Black from King’s Landing were the cause for it, along with some leftover damage from what felt like the hundreds of wars he’d fought over the past few years.  
  
His back protested the entire way from where he’d tied his horse to a tree alongside the others, to where Tormund had pitched the tent and insisted that Jon share with him. Jon wouldn’t complain, it was freezing beyond the wall, and the red headed Wilding was possibly his closest friend, excluding Sam of course.  
  
The flaps of the tent were tied, meaning that Tormund would already be inside, so he undid them and then had to bend down to get inside the tent. He groaned and swore in pain as he did so, grimacing as he straightened up again and gingerly held his lower back in his gloved hands.  
  
“What’s wrong with you, little crow?” Tormund asked him, a hint of concern in his voice. Ghost, who was apparently also in the tent, let out a low whine, and Jon wondered when the beast had even gotten into the tent, because the last time he’d seen him, just as the clan of Wildlings had stopped to set up camp for the night, he was disappearing further into the woods to hunt.  
  
Jon looked down, and found Tormund lying under the mass of pelts, Ghost on the other side of him and curled up, enough room between the two of them for Jon to fit.  
  
“Muscles in my back are killing me,” Jon grunted as he tied the flaps of the tent closed again, and then he got started on removing the outer layer of his clothing.  
  
“We all have those days,” Tormund said thoughtfully, as he watched Jon and sipped something from a wineskin.  
  
Jon tossed the coat to the ground by Ghost’s feet, and placed his hands on his back again, “Usually I’m okay, but that amount of riding was too much, even for me,” he said as he gently twisted his torso to the left, hissing softly through his teeth.  
  
“That won’t help,” Tormund said, ginger brows raised up towards his hairline.  
  
“Something has too,” Jon replied, twisting the other way.  
  
Tormund huffed a laugh, “Lay down and have a drink, that’ll help more than any bloody stretch would,” he told him, petting the space on the pelts beside him with his large hand.  
  
Jon sighed, but laid down anyways, lifting the pelts and crawling under them, laying on his stomach because that was the most comfortable. Tormund held out the wineskin toward him, and Jon took it, holding his head up as he swallowed several mouthfuls of the liquid, it wasn’t wine. It was whatever brew the Wildlings drank, and it burned a little, but it was good.  
  
He handed it back, and then groaned as he rested his head on his arms. He was so tired, and so uncomfortable. Ghost sniffed at his face, and Jon reached out to stroke his paw.  
  
There was some shuffling from Tormund beside him, and Jon just assumed he was getting comfortable, and then he felt a weight hand on his lower back.  
  
“Does it hurt when you push on it?” Tormund asked him, and then of course proceeded to harshly push on his back with his fingers.  
  
Jon let out a noise he would forever deny being a whimper, “Yes it hurts, you fucking asshole,” he spat out, feeling annoyed as he swatted at Tormund’s arm. His cheeks burning, because he really just whimpered like a house dog when it was scared of a storm.  
  
He heard Tormund snicker a laugh, and Jon closed his eyes and mentally slapped himself, “Sit still a minute,” the older man told him, and before Jon could even ask why, Tormund was sitting on his ankles beside him, pulling the pelts back from Jon’s body, and the placing both hands on him over his layers of clothing.  
  
“What are you doing?” Jon asked, frowning a little as he tried to look over his shoulder, but Tormund’s large hand shoved his head back down.  
  
“I’m helping, now bloody sit still, crow,” Tormund grunted at him.  
  
Jon was too tired to even argue, so he just hummed and put his head in a more comfortable position as he anticipated whatever the hell Tormund was doing.  
  
It took a moment, but Tormund started. He pressed the palms of his hands firmly against the spot he’d touched earlier, and ground them in small half circular moments. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt.  
  
“Ow,” Jon said, only for dramatic effect, and he just knew that Tormund would have rolled his eyes at him.  
  
“Don’t be a baby,” Tormund told him as he repeated the motion further down his back, going harder as he reached the dip in his spine.  
  
It felt nice. It felt so nice. Jon’s eyes fluttered closed as a soft sigh fell from his lips, and he wished that Tormund didn’t hear it, but he knew he would have.  
  
He’d fought beside Tormund in several wars, they’d started off as enemies, but were now deathly loyal to each other, and the fiery redhead was currently rubbing his back, like it wasn’t a strange thing to do.  
  
But Jon felt strange, he felt strange because the contact that Tormund was giving him felt different than what other men had before. It wasn’t a pat on the back or a goodbye hug, it was Tormund going out of his way to make him more comfortable when he’d said that he was in pain.  
  
That, and just how much Jon was enjoying himself made him flush from his cheeks down to his neck in embarrassment. He hoped that Tormund wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t get uncomfortable, and most of all he hoped he never stopped; his hands moving up his body.  
  
The Wildling’s hands land on his shoulder blades, and did some weird push-pull tug movement, and it felt so good that Jon couldn’t catch the groan that fell from his lips.  
  
“That’s it, little crow, let me help you,” The older man murmured, and Jon felt something stir in his gut at his words, “Got another long day tomorrow, don’t want you miserable for it,”  
  
Jon nibbled at his bottom lip and his his face in his arms, partially wishing the rub would be over so he could stop acting like an idiot, but at the same time he never wanted it to end. He didn’t want to feel Tormund take his hands off him.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos & comments are loved, & inspire me to write more! 
> 
> Check out my tumblr, where you can send in your own request! @iiloulouii


End file.
